


Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

by engmaresh



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Sex, Romance, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engmaresh/pseuds/engmaresh
Summary: Kuvira smiles again, and there’s something just so guileless about her delight at his words that it makes his heart clench. Like she can’t believe he’d miss her absence—he’ll always miss her absence. “I was only gone for six hours.”“That’s a quarter of a day.”In which Kuvira and Baatar are young and in love, in power, and horny as fuck.
Relationships: Baatar Jr./Kuvira (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> To fill a square on my Banned Together Bingo "Unmarried Characters". (Oh the _scandal_.)

He’d told one of the privates to inform him of her arrival, so when the kid bursts into the tent, sending various papers flapping to the floor, Baatar tries to remember that before biting his head off. “They’re back, sir.” And he belatedly dashes off a hasty salute, almost as if in afterthought.

Baatar nods, gestures for the boy to leave. Country hicks. You can take the boy out of the backwater...but he’s never going to be more than a grunt. A grunt that’s about to find his way out of the rotation of assistants Zhu Li had arranged for him and Varrick, and to something more suited for talents, or lack thereof. Digging latrines, possibly.

He quickly gathers up the stray documents, wishing for a moment there’s such a thing as paperbending, then spends a second to straighten his jacket and smooth back his hair. _Ridiculous_ , he finds himself thinking, _you’re being ridiculous, just go_.

The bustle outside is normal. Used to be that Kuvira’s return to camp from a treaty signing was met with cheers. But now that they’ve started moving on to states and provinces that have proven somewhat more resistant to their unification efforts, Kuvira has put a halt to celebrations. No need to rub salt into wounds, she’d cautioned. No need to give anybody a reason to retaliate. They are supposed to be there as liberators, not conquerors, and the sooner the narrative changes in their favour, the better.

Baatar hurries past the makeshift garages, taking a moment to scrub ink and any remnants of engine grease from his hands at one of the sinks there. There’s already a small squad of soldiers clustered around the back of her truck, pulling out empty pallets and hauling out what he assumes are the barrels of oil they’d traded for. None of them seem to notice him as he moves quietly past them, heading for the truck cab.

He almost gets brained by the passenger door when it opens, throwing himself back just in time. It’s Zhu Li, and her eyes narrow behind her glasses when she looks out and spots him. She twists around, leans back into the cab to say something to the driver. When she turns back, Baatar’s still waiting—he wasn’t raised in a barn, and it feels rude to just ignore her to head round to the other side. She takes his proffered hand and leaps lightly out of the raised cab, landing nimbly on her feet.

“I’ll take care of them for you,” she says, eyes flicking over to the soldiers still hanging around the back of the truck, horsing around. “And I’ll clear her schedule, just don’t spend the rest of the day in there..”

Heat crawls up the back of Baatar’s neck, but he can’t help the grin that breaks out on his face, and is rewarded by the slightest upturn to the corners of Zhu Li’s mouth. “Thank you,” he tells her. He makes a mental note to remind Kuvira to give Zhu Li some additional leave—if she ever takes it.

He’s about to pull himself up into the truck when Kuvira flops back across the bench seat, taking up the space he would have sat on. She smiles at him, and he smiles back, an almost helpless, automatic gesture. But she smiles so little nowadays—the meeting today must have gone really well, maybe they’ve gotten more than they asked for—and each curl of her mouth tugs on the strings she has tangled around his heart. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he says back.

“Come round the other side,” she tells him.

She’s sitting up again and pulling off her gloves when he walks around, braids mussed from lying down, her cowlick escaping its bonds to fall into her face. The cab of the truck gives her about a head of height over him, and he has to tip his head back to meet her eyes.

“You look pleased with yourself,” he observes. Her knees bump up against his chest as he curls his arms around her waist.

“I _am_ pleased with myself.” The unmistakable note of smug satisfaction is heavy in her voice. “I got what we came for, and more.”

“More tents?”

Her mouth twists. “Except that. But we can break camp tomorrow, head for the next province, shuttle back supplies here.”

“Hmmm,” Baatar says, “sounds good,” but he’s stuck on the _no tents_ bit, because no tents means sharing with Vaarick, with Kuvira on the other side of the camp with Zhu Li. Not that they share, it wouldn’t be _professional_ , but there's always been the excuse of... _private debriefings_ , as Kuvira likes to call them when she’s feeling silly.

She taps him on the side of the head. “I can hear those wheels turning…”

 _More like they’re stuck_ — “It’s nothing,” he says. “I missed you.”

Kuvira smiles again, and there’s something just so guileless about her delight at his words that it makes his heart clench. Like she can’t believe he’d miss her absence—he’ll always miss her absence. “I was only gone for six hours.”

“That’s a quarter of a day.” His arms tighten around her waist, tugging her to the edge of her seat. Her legs open up for him, knees nudging under his arms as he settles between them. Even when she bends down, he has to go up on his toes to kiss her. Her mouth is warm, and she tastes like stale tea, the kind that’s been steeping too long in a thermos, gone metallic.

He has missed this, all of it: the way her hands scrabble at the back of his neck, her blunt nails dragging through the short hairs on his nape before finally coming to rest—one hand fisted in the collar of his coat, the other curving round to cup his jaw.

They kiss languidly until he has to pull away to breathe, and she chases after him, nipping at his lips when he eases back, her eyes closed with pleasure. There are dark shadows underneath her eyes, and he thumbs at them as though he could wipe them away. Seeming to anticipate another lecture on her sleeping habits, Kuvira ducks her face away, dropping her head to his shoulder. Her legs swing around to hook the backs of his knees, reeling him in closer, leaning down to mouth down his neck.

When she hums, he can feel it verberate down his own throat. Her breath is hot against his skin. The hand on his jaw roams, absently trailing the curve of his ear. “I missed you too.” The words seem to resonate in his chest, where his heart rabbaroos away. She has her boots on, her feet aren’t on the ground, so she thankfully can’t hear what a fool she makes of him.

Now as she nuzzles at his jawline, the fingers of her other hand pluck at his uniform, seeking out the hidden eyehooks that keep his jacket closed. “We could go back to your—”

“And have Varrick walk in on us again? Yeah, no thanks.”

She pulls away grinning. “Is that why you came out here? Naughty, naughty.” She bites playfully at him when he tries to put a finger to her lips.

“You have to be quiet.”

“What are you talking about. I’m always quiet.”

“Not—” Baatar blushes, feels the back of his neck turn hot. Resists the urge to turn around to make sure no one is watching. _No one is watching, even if they accidentally stumbled upon us, they wouldn’t dare._ He still lowers his voice. “Not when I’m eating you out.”

He feels her breath hitch. Her hands still. Her eyes gleam. As he watches, her tongue darts out to swipe across her lower lip.

“Are your hands clean?”

“Yes,” he says, and he holds them up for her inspection. No oil staining his knuckles, no grime under his fingernails.

“Okay, good,” and her hands are already undoing her belt as she wriggles closer to the edge of her seat.

“Wait—”

“C’mon, help me out a little here…”

Baatar grabs her by the wrists, places her hands palm down upon her thighs and traps them there with his own. His thumbs brush the insides of her thighs. She’s warm, even through the thick cotton. “Patience.”

Kuvira groans, and slowly sinks back, head connecting with the seat with an audible thump. “I haven’t had a proper orgasm in...a week. Maybe two.” She sounds disgusted at herself.

“Tragic,” says Baatar. He’d last jerked off the night before, while abusing his water allotment in the shower. The privileges of being a high-ranking officer. “You should manage your time better.”

“Screw you,” Kuvira says mildly. “If you took an interest in governing—”

“You told me my management skills were shit—”

“Spirits, why are we even talking about this.” She pulls her hands free and elbows up to scowl at him. “Put your mouth to better use.”

“Yes, sir,” he mutters, and pretends he doesn’t notice how that makes her colour.

Were they alone in a private tent he’d undress her slowly, pull off her boots one by one, lay her down on the bed and take his sweet time with her. But they don’t have a tent, just this truck and their officers milling about just several yards away. They’d have to make do. He unbuttons the lower half of her coat for better access, only for Kuvira’s hand to shoot down and close about his wrist.

“I have to warn you, I’ve been running around all day, it’s swampy down there.”

Baatar chuckles. “Duly noted,” he says, pulling down both her trousers and underwear in one go. She’s not wrong, she smells musky, a little sour, but it’s human, and he finds it is a welcome change after a half a day spent under an engine, its oily metal tang oozing its way into his sinuses.

He cards his fingers through her neatly trimmed curls, dragging his nails across the sensitive skin of her mound as he blows softly on her exposed folds. Kuvira sighs, legs shifting wider. “Don’t take too long,” she warns him.

“You need to relax,” he tells her, and lowers his mouth to her cunt. She shivers at the first touch, and one of her hands comes round to tangle in his hair. She doesn’t tug though, not just yet. He laves the flat of his tongue down her slit, focusing on getting her wetter, ignoring where she very obviously wants him to be, judging from the aborted jerks of her hips.

Whatever Kuvira says, he wants to take his time. So he may have been jerking off every night when he should have been sleeping, or strategizing, or doing paperwork, or whatever else gets Kuvira off at night, but he’s missed this too. The way she squirms and loses all composure when he starts to press his tongue into her, her breathy groans and how she struggles so hard to be quiet, her fingers in his hair, on the back of his neck, pulling him in, until all that he can see and hear and smell and taste and feel is _her_.

“Oh, _fuuuck_ ,” she breathes as he licks her slow and languorous, her muscles clutching and shivering around his tongue, and when he trails his lips up to finally suck, very gently, on her stiff clit, she almost clobers him in the side of head with a spasmodic jerk of her knee.

Funny thing is, his best tricks are _her_ best tricks. Before Kuvira his technique had apparently been atrocious, to the point the very memory of his time with his ex-girlfriend makes him cringe. When they’d first started sleeping together Kuvira’d been demanding and impatient, and rightfully so, while he’d been all too eager to please her, still a little awed by her, by the realisation that she liked him. He likes to think the time she invested in him has paid off. Judging from the way she’s twisting about in her seat, it has.

“I can hear you thinking,” she hisses, and now the hand in his hair tightens, making his scalp burn. “C’mon, turn off your brain.”

Baatar lifts his mouth from her—this makes her whine. “Stop pulling my hair.” He bats her hand away from his head, and for good measure twines her fingers with his before pinning both their hands under her hip.

“This is torture,” she groans. “Unsanctioned. I will have you court marti- _unh_!”

He worries the soft skin of her thigh a little longer, until he knows it’ll leave a bruise that’ll press right against the seam of her trousers. With his free hand he slides his thumb through her wetness, tracing up and down the seam of her cunt and around her clit, feather-light enough to tease with no relief.

“You _bastard_ ,” Kuvira mutters, one of her heels thumping into his back, while the leg over his shoulder shifts, then resettles, like she’d thought to put her foot on his shoulder only to remember that she still has her boots on. If she keeps this up, _he’ll_ be the one covered in bruises once they’re done. For the sake of his back, and for his cock, which is straining painfully against the fly of his trousers, he decides to give her what she wants, and slides two fingers into her, tongue flicking at her clit.

Kuvira lets out a loud whine, immediately muffled by the hand she tears free from his grip. She pushes up to meet his eyes across the planes of her body, her own gaze dark with lust, tendrils of hair sticking to her face with sweat. He curls his fingers and she falls back against the seat with a muted groan.

By the time she comes, Baatar has three fingers in her, grinding the heel of his palm against her clit, all finesse forgotten. Her lust has consumed him and he’s frantic with his own need, trying to find what friction he can against the boot she’s wedged between his legs.

“Come up here, come up,” Kuvira moans, hissing when his fingers slip from her as he clumsily scrambles up into the cabin, clambering between her legs. There’s a tug on his trousers as both belt buckle and zipper undo themselves, and she slides one hand in his damp briefs and curls her long, cool fingers around his overheated flesh.

“Kuvira,” he sighs against her neck, shivering as her hand slides up his cock, slipping the foreskin teasingly over the head. He’s tense with need, holding on to her with one hand as she works him, the other, still slick with her spend, trailing blindly down her cheek. He moans when she turns into his touch, sucking his fingers into her mouth, pulling the taste of herself from his fingers.

He’s so close. He’s vaguely aware of her arching up, grinding against his knee, then her hand gives one his cock delicious twist on the upstroke, her thumb gliding lightly over the head and it’s that gentle touch that undoes him.

“Nooo,” groans Kuvira, even as her other hand clutches his back, pulling him closer. “Don’t-don’t come on my uniform—oh spirits.” She jerks into him, pushing her core tight against his knee as she comes again.

He’s still breathing heavily when she shifts under him, trying to wriggle out from under his weight so that she can arrange them side by side. His glasses are askew, but she plucks them off and tucks them carefully under the seat. This close, he can see her perfectly well without them.

Absently she swipes a hand over her hip, gathering up a string of his come. “Look at what you’ve done,” she scolds him fondly. “You territorial bastard.” She presses her thumb against his lips, making him lick his own bitter spend from her skin, chasing it with her lips and tongue. It makes him feel like he’s sixteen again, discovering sex for the first time, trying to sneak around Aiwei and the guards to kiss girls and boys in the more remote parts of his mother’s garden. In fact Kuvira’d sometimes covered for him, until they’d been the one sneaking around, stealing moments at three am in his father’s workshop under guise of looking in on him, or her climbing up to his freaking window like they were reenacting an Oma-Shu fairytale.

Everything must come to an end, and at some point their frantic need winds down. Baatar drapes her arm over his waist, and luxuriates in the simple pleasure of just having her there, stretched out warm and relaxed next to him, her breath sending her mussed hair fluttering.

“Mmmm.” Her eyes are closed, but there’s a smile playing about her lips. “Stop staring at me.”

“Can’t help it,” he says with a grin. “You’re so beautiful.”

She blushes. It’s cute and it makes his heart skip in his chest every time. That this woman, who can stand firm against the worst the world has to offer to them, still blushes when he tells her the truth.

“You should take a picture,” she says. “Test out Varrick’s new tech, see if he’s telling the truth that it’ll last longer.”

Then she sits up with a look of horror, the suddenness of her movement unbalancing Baatar enough that he rolls back and falls into the footwell of the cab. He yells as the emergency brake digs painfully into his kidneys.

“Shit,” she mutters, hands flying her to her hair. “I had a meeting—”

“Zhu Li said—”

“I’ve probably missed it—”

Baatar tries to sit up but he’s stuck, arms trapped at his side with no leverage. “Kuvira—”

“I’m a wreck, and you got come on my uniform—”

“Kuvira!”

She stops, stares down at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing there, get up!”

“I can’t!” he growls. “I’m stuck.”

“Spirits, Baatar…” She rolls her eyes, but leans down to grab him by the shoulders of his uniform and tugs. Something snags and only comes free with a loud ripping noise, but he’s able to push himself up now, and climbs up onto the seat next to her.

She eyes him up and down. “You look terrible.”

Baatar retrieves his glasses from under the seat, then tries to examine himself in the side mirror. His hair is a mess. A seam on the shoulder of his jacket is torn, and when he looks down, he’s still got his fly undone. Not to mention the mess slowly crusting inside his briefs and the dark stain Kuvira left on the right knee of his trousers.

Not that Kuvira looks any better. Her hair’s a tangled mess, there are suspicious stains on the side of her jacket, and she’s somehow lost her trousers, underwear and boots. And the less said about how they both smell, the better.

“Where are my trousers?” she hisses. “Did you drop them outside the truck?”

Baatar runs a harried hand through his hair, forgetting it’s still sticky. Great, now he probably has come in his hair too. “I don’t know,” he hisses back. “You took them off at some point.” Though any concerns for privacy would be out the window by now. At no point had they ever closed the door of the truck—anyone walking past would have received an eyeful and more. Baatar hopes Zhu Li has held up her end of the bargain, and kept everyone away.

They clean themselves up as best as they can, Kuvira almost falling out of the cabin fishing for her uniform, but they still look like they...very much like they spent the last two hours fucking in a truck.

“This is terrible,” she mutters, as she picks dried come off her jacket while Baatar braids back her hair. It’s not her usual bun, but it’ll have to do. “I look terrible.”

“You look like you finally got some,” he tells her. “You should own it.”

“You’re only saying this because it’s _you_.”

“Hmmm, well, I’ve seen some of the contraband that goes around. People should know you’re taken.”

She snorts. “Like you don’t have your own fanclub. And I know you don’t destroy any of the stuff you confiscate, don’t deny it.”

Baatar trails his hand up the side of her neck. She hasn’t put her pauldrons back on, so he can easily push her collar down and press his lips to her pulse. “I need to make sure no one’s slandering you.”

“Is that so?” she drawls. “Maybe I need to run my own smut check. Make sure no one has it out for my second-in-command.”

“Except you, hmmm?” Her pulse hammers hot against his lips.

“Except me.”

She goes easy in his arms when he spins her around and presses her up against the side of the truck. He still has her braid in his hand, and twines it around his fist until she has to tilt her head back. “Baatar…” she says warningly, but she’s the one who breaks first, fisting her hands in her uniform so she can crush their lips together. Their noses mash together almost painfully, their teeth clack—there’s something almost vicious about it, like she’s trying to eat him whole.

Any kind of work they’d put into making themselves look presentable is undone by the time they peel themselves apart again. Kuvira glares at him from under her re-mussed hair, lips kiss-swollen, a flush high on her cheeks. “You know I have to walk through camp like this, you ass.”

“Like I look any better.” Baatar tenderly touches his neck. He’s pretty sure she’s left scratches there despite her trimmed nails.

Kuvira gives him a smug grin. “That’s how you like it.”

He takes her hand and presses his lips to the back of it. “You’re horrible. But I guess I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> _But they never stood in the dark with you, love._   
>  _When you take me in your arms and drive me slowly out of my mind._
> 
> [Title from She and Him's cover of "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me".](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaTU0xSq1jk)


End file.
